Not Ready
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: Hermione Granger has a secret. Ron thinks he knows exactly what it is. Their relationship could very well be hanging by a thread.


**Not Ready**

"Hermione, I've got news!" Ron Weasley called excitedly as he bounded through the front door.

Hermione pushed her chair away from the kitchen table, making an awful scraping sound as the wood ground against the tiles, winced, and went to meet him out in the hallway, wringing her hands nervously as she did so.

"Ron," she greeted, injecting warmth into the artificial smile she'd forced onto her face.

He slammed the door a little too loudly, looking far too excited about something to realise how falsely she was beaming at him.

"What news?" Hermione tried to sound interested, hoping, _praying_, it was such good news it would take her mind far, far away from what was troubling her.

Ron strode down the hall towards Hermione, grinning broadly, hands held behind his back in a suddenly coy manner. He stopped a few feet in front of her, a mischievous glint in his endless, blue eyes and the edges of his mouth curling up. He looked, Hermione thought sadly, so _young._ He had retained that boyish charm from his childhood, even two years after they'd left Hogwarts.

They were both of them so young…

"Are you going to tell me?" Hermione asked playfully, whilst he continued to grin down at her, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excitable puppy. She began to relax, her anxiety slowly melting away in his presence.

"I," Ron announced proudly, "got _us_"—from behind his back, he produced what appeared to be two strips of embossed card—"tickets for the Quidditch League!"

Hermione felt her heart sink, the anxiety seeping back into her body. "What?"

"Tickets for the Quidditch League!" Ron repeated with no less enthusiasm than before, brandishing said tickets in front of her. "This Saturday," he went on excitedly, "Holyhead Harpies versus the Ballycastle Bats!"

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure of what to say. Ron's heart was in the right place; it was an endearing gesture. But didn't he know how much she detested Quidditch? And the disappointment of his 'good news' only cast her mind back to her own, tragic news. Oh gosh, she needed to sit down again…

Ron seemed to notice her less-than-thrilled expression and looked mildly disheartened. "I paid full price for them and everything," he said proudly, trying to mask his unease at her blatant disappointment. "Rather than, you know, getting Ginny to get me a discount. And they're really good seats," he went on. "Harry wanted to sit with us but I told him to get lost so we could be together." His dimples deepened, and his eyes twinkled again. "Because it's our anniversary."

Ron looked so proud of himself that it nearly broke Hermione's heart. "Oh, Ron, that's so thoughtful," she said breathlessly, trying to salvage the fake delight he had so willingly believed earlier. But she could see it in his eyes; he knew something was wrong. "Our anniversary," she gulped, as though only just realising it. "This Sunday."

"Two years," Ron said happily, like it was his single greatest achievement.

Who knows, Hermione thought to herself, maybe it was. The thought both flattered and troubled her.

"Two years," she repeated in a daze. "Is that really all it's been?"

She and Ron had been together for what felt like an eternity. She was his, and he was hers, and it was love, and bliss, and all the things it should have been—but only two years? The realisation shook her. They were young in love compared to so many others. They weren't married, they weren't even engaged, and they'd only been living together for barely a year. _They weren't ready._

"Why?" Ron asked, panic-stricken. "You're not bored of me, are you?"

"No, of course not," Hermione insisted. "I like how we are. I _love_ how we are. I—I don't want anything to change!"

Something was beginning to crack in her normally calm demeanour. But how could she not freak out? This was _huge._ Oh, she loved Ron, and the thought of a life without the beautiful things he offered her—happiness, serenity, laughter, security, _love_—wasn't something she even wanted to consider. But the fact still remained, they were _not_ ready.

"Hermione." Ron had dropped his voice to a low, concerned tone, his smile replaced with a tightened frown. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Hermione lied, too quickly, too unnaturally.

Ron eyed her warily. Oh, gosh, she panicked to herself, he knew her too well. He could read her as well as any book she'd ever read. She tried another smile. He didn't look convinced.

"We, err, we don't _have_ to go to the match," Ron said slowly. "I mean, I know Quidditch isn't your thing, but I thought because it was Ginny's team, and it was our anniversary, and we—"

"Ron, I'd love to go to the Quidditch match," Hermione cut across him. "Really, I would," she insisted, going for a less hysterical, more light-hearted sort of approach. She met his gaze, hoping to convey the endless, desperate love she had for him.

Ron still looked wary, but the warmth was returning to his expression. "Okay," he said softly, "But… _asides_ from the Quidditch, you're—you're alright, aren't you? Because you know if there's ever anything on your mind, or that you want to talk about, then you can tell me, right?"

"I'm fine," Hermione lied with more confidence. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ron shifted his weight, trying to figure out whether this was a trick question or not. "Well," he blushed, "you just seem a little on edge, that's all."

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted again. "Really, I'm _more_ than fine."

"Okay, but if there _is_ anything—"

"Then I can talk to you," Hermione finished for him, wishing to escape the situation before the pressure got to her and the barrier of lies came crashing to the floor.

"I mean it."

"I know—that's one of the many reasons why I love you."

Something softened in Ron's expression, Hermione's words of love bringing a happiness to him that nothing else could. Hermione half thought he might try and coax more out of her, but he seemed to think better of it, planted a kiss on her forehead, and walked past into the kitchen.

"Do we have anything to eat?" Ron called out to her, rummaging in the fridge. "I'm starving."

* * *

"Hermione, this is _huge_— you have to tell him!"

"I can't! You know I can't!"

Ron stopped in his tracks, immediately identifying the hushed voices of his girlfriend and, more surprisingly, his sister. He dragged a hand across his sleep-strained eyes, wondering what on earth could possibly be going on. Hair ruffled, clad only in pyjamas, Ron half thought of strolling into the kitchen and demanding an answer, but something held him back. Something, at the back of his mind, led him to believe it was better to hang back in the shadows and try and get a gist of what was going on.

Something told him he would not be welcome in this conversation.

It hadn't greatly unsettled him when he'd shifted in his sleep and found Hermione absent. She'd likely gone to the loo or something, right? It did, however, unsettle him to have stumbled upon the voices of her and Ginny in what appeared to be a very secretive argument in his and Hermione's kitchen. At midnight!

"This is ridiculous," Ginny hissed. "For Merlin's sake, Hermione, you _cannot_ keep this to yourself. My brother's not a total idiot—he'll figure it out soon enough, and you know it."

Ron pressed his back against the wall of the hallway, heart racing and all senses on full alert.

"I _will_ tell him," Hermione insisted. "But not just yet—he's not ready!"

"_He's_ not ready?" Ginny asked coolly. "Or _you're_ not ready?"

Ron could sense Hermione's hesitance before she replied. "I'm serious, Ginny, he will _freak out_ if I tell him. You know he'll overreact. He'll be terrified, he'll be distraught—"

"You're going to have to tell him sooner or later," Ginny interrupted firmly. "And from experience, I would say sooner is always going to be better. Much better than having him find out on his own anyhow. Better to have come from your lips."

"What experience?" Hermione asked shrilly. "When have you _ever_ been in this situation before?"

"Okay, well maybe not _this_ situation, but I'm still right, and you know it."

"What would you do?" Hermione asked, suddenly pleading. "I mean, if you were in my position—would you really tell Harry?"

"Of course."

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Deadly serious!" Ginny declared. "There shouldn't be any secrets in a healthy, happy relationship. Especially one as huge as this."

"But if I tell Ron there won't _be_ a relationship anymore!"

Ron took a breath so sharp he thought the girls must have been able to hear it. To his relief, they continued in the same urgent tones.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron would never leave you. He loves you, Hermione, regardless." Something softened in Ginny's tone. "Nothing you could ever say or do to him would make him love you any less, believe me. Not even this. _Especially_ not this. I mean, he's the one to blame!" she laughed.

Ron felt a sudden fear shoot through him. Oh, Merlin, what had he done? Had he unintentionally sent Hermione into the arms of another man? Had he not been attentive enough to her needs? A hundred worries clouded his mind.

"I—I don't know, Ginny," Hermione went on uncertainly. "I just never thought it would be _me_, of all people, who would get themselves into this situation. I mean, we're so young, and we've only been together for two years—"

"And that should be more than enough time for you to realise Ron's not going anywhere," Ginny said gently. "He loves you, Hermione, and whether you like it or not, he _is_ going to realise. He _is_ going to figure it out—you and I know it will get to a point where his brain cells with eventually kick in and piece it all together. Unobservant as he may be, he is definitely going to realise if you don't just tell him."

Ron cast his mind back to Hermione's strange behaviour earlier in the hall. How long had this secret little rendezvous been going on for?—he wondered. And who with? His heartfelt indescribably heavy. He had been so happy…

And what's more, he had thought _she'd_ been happy too.

"I don't know…"

"Hermione," Ginny snapped, "if you don't tell him then _I_ will, okay?"

"Ginny!" Hermione gasped. "You can't! You can't tell _anyone_, okay, not even Harry, and especially not Ron!"

"Oh, if you think I'm _not_ going to tell Harry—"

"You can't!"

"I can, and I will. And you know _he'll_ tell Ron."

"Ginny, please!"

"Hermione Granger, I am giving you until Sunday, alright? By the end of the match, if you haven't told Ron, then I swear _I_ will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"This is blackmail, Ginny!"

"This is for your own good!"

The loud cracking sound let Ron know his sister had disapparated. He waited for only a second longer before racing back up the stairs before he was soon to be spotted by Hermione.

Lying back in bed, heart racing wildly as a thousand new worries whirled around his troubled mind, Ron felt no ease or comfort when the mattress dipped and he soon felt the gentle breathing of the supposed love of his life as she drifted into sleep beside him.

* * *

Ron had barely slept through the night. How could he when his mind was such a mess?

He had never realised Hermione was so unhappy with him. This revelation was so horribly unexpected that it caused him something close to physical pain to try and wrap his mind around it. He had been so oblivious, so ignorant to the entire situation.

He himself had been so blissfully in love and perfectly content with their cosy little life that he'd never even considered Hermione might not be so happy.

So unhappy as to be seeking comfort in some other man's arms, though?

That was a blow too hard to recover from.

And the part that most broke his heart was her willingness to stay with him—to shelter him from the truth. It was demoralising; it was pitiful. But how could he continue in the same way now that he knew her secret?

His life, his entire relationship with her, was a joke.

But Ron knew he couldn't walk away from her. Merlin's beard, no matter how much he ached with pain at the thought of her giving her love to another man, he could never leave Hermione. He was in too deep. He was so hopelessly in love with her that walking away from the mess he'd created would be even more painful than staying with her, knowing she could never love him in the way she was surely loving this other man.

Even if her love for him was a lie, the fact that she wanted to stay with him still, at least pretending they were happily in love, was a blessing he couldn't afford to compromise.

Perhaps it would destroy him, but that was a price Ron was willing to pay. He was too selfish a man to let the love of his life slip away from him.

When Hermione walked into the kitchen that morning, he was already at the table. The sight of her left him breathless, as it did every morning, but now there was a painful knot constricting his chest. She looked frighteningly pale, like a ghost.

"I made you breakfast," Ron blurted out, sliding a plate of burnt toast towards her.

Maybe he could win her back somehow? Maybe if he showered her with all the love and affection she deserved, she'd come back to him. He could be the man of her dreams; he could be that man she'd fallen in love with all over again.

Hermione glanced at the plate with an unreadable expression. "Actually, Ron, I'm feeling rather sick," she apologised. "I, err, I think I'll—" Her body lurched and she clutched at her stomach.

Ron was on his feet immediately, racing to her side, tenderly cradling her in his arms. "'Mione," he mumbled, hurriedly swallowing the half-slice of toast he'd just crammed into his mouth. "Are you okay?"

Hermione began fanning herself. "I'm fine," she insisted, forcing that same bittersweet smile onto her face from the day before.

"Are you going to throw up?" Ron asked in horror. "Do you want to sit down?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, really, I'm fine." She straightened up, offering him a reassuring smile that only filled his heart with dread. When he didn't return her smile, a fresh wave of nausea swept over her. "Listen, Ron, there's, err, there's something I need to tell you."

Ron's heart skipped a beat. He'd been more than prepared to continue in blissful ignorance. He didn't think he could handle hearing the actual words come from her lips. Only then did it become horrifyingly real.

"Should _I_ sit down?" he asked weakly.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "That might be a good idea…"

Ron raked a nervous hand through his hair as he settled down into the kitchen chair. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for this.

"Ron—"

"Look, before you say anything," Ron interrupted, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable. "I just—I just want you to know that I love you." It was hard to look her in the eye. He felt so overwhelmingly vulnerable.

Hermione seemed only mildly taken aback. "Well," she gulped, "I love you too." Her words gave him no reassurance. She loved him out of pity; that was all. "But Ron, please listen, what I'm going to tell you is a pretty big shock, but I want you to know—"

"_I know_," Ron interrupted in a desperate voice, finally looking her in the eye.

"You—you know what?" Hermione stuttered.

"Your secret," Ron confessed. "I heard you talking to Ginny last night."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione groaned, a hand flying to her forehead. "I'm so sorry! Believe me, I never wanted you to find out that way, I swear. And I… I'm so sorry that you did." She hesitated only briefly in order to regain her composure. "How do you feel?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Shocked," Ron admitted. "Devastated, in fact."

Hermione gulped.

"But… I've been thinking about it a lot, and I just want you to be happy." Ron looked her dead in the eye. "As long as you want me, Hermione, I'll be here for you, and you know I'll always love you, no matter what," he vowed.

"You really mean that?" Hermione asked in a breathy whisper. "It doesn't frighten you at all? Because I thought—I thought we might not be ready, you know. I mean, we're not even married," she laughed nervously. "Not that I'm implying you _need_ to marry me," she added hurriedly. "I just meant—"

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked confusedly.

Hermione met his confusion. "What are _you_ talking about?"

"We don't need to be married for you to have a secret lover," Ron laughed as nervously as Hermione had. "I'd prefer you not to have one at all, but I'd really rather prefer we _weren't_ married if you're—"

"Secret lover!?"

"Well—"

"You think I have a _secret lover?"_ Hermione asked in disbelief. And then, to his horror, began to laugh. "Oh, _Ron_, is that really what you thought?"

Ron was blushing furiously. "Well, when you were talking to Ginny, I just assumed…" He trailed off embarrassedly.

"I don't have a secret lover!" Hermione declared, greatly amused by it all. "Who could you possibly think I'd be seeing on the side!?"

"I don't know," Ron mumbled, really wishing she'd stop laughing. It was mortifying—his worry has been eating him up all night. "Krum," he said darkly. "Or someone from work, or, or Neville, or—"

"_Neville?"_ Hermione was actually clutching at her stomach, doubled over with laughter. "Oh, _Ron_," she sighed, wiping away a tear that had escaped during her laughter. "I'm not cheating on you; I'm _pregnant!"_

Ron's breath hitched in his throat. "You're—what?"

The laughter was gone instantaneously. "I'm pregnant," Hermione said in a much softer voice, walking over to the chair Ron was still sat in. Winding a loving hand into his hair, she cradled the side of his face. "I was afraid to tell you," she confessed. "I thought you might freak out…"

"I'm not freaking out," Ron stated, though he'd gone dramatically pale. "I—I just—I—huh?"

"I'm pregnant," Hermione said again, gaining more confidence each time she said it. Suddenly it didn't seem at all as scary as it once had done.

"H—how?" Ron stuttered.

"I'm sure you can take a good guess," Hermione said playfully, stroking his hair as she did so.

But Ron was in a daze. Well, it was a shock indeed, but it was certainly better than the alternative. His body began to relax. A baby? Well, the shock would kick in soon enough, but he'd take it over a secret lover any day.

It was then that he realised, as she was still lovingly looking into his eyes, Hermione's heart, despite his fears, still very much belonged to him. Warmth bubbled up inside him. He was so in love with her, and she with him, and now they were going to be a family? It should have scared the life out of him, but it only filled him with joy.

He was definitely ready.

"Wait," Ron suddenly gulped, rapid dread filling his body once more. Hermione looked at him questioningly. "The baby—it is _mine_, right!?" he asked in a quavering voice.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes in response.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **I didn't want to say anything at the beginning of the story in case it gave too much away (though to be fair it was supposed to be pretty obvious XD) but I fully understand that that ages of Ron and Hermione in this story don't align with how old they would have been when they had their first child, so in that sense, I'm slightly bending canon :)_

* * *

**Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 3—Round 3**

**Team: **Holyhead Harpies  
**Position: **Captain  
**Task: **Write about a member of your OTP keeping a secret from the other (Romione)


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